


the days get longer

by nuricurry



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, References to Depression, TYL setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuricurry/pseuds/nuricurry
Summary: No one wants to face reality. It's too soon. Too painful. He understands more than he lets on.Story of his life really.
Relationships: Gokudera Hayato/Yamamoto Takeshi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	the days get longer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gravy_tape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravy_tape/gifts).



Three days.

Every time he sees Gokudera, he seems to be surrounded by a constant cloud of smoke. In the last seventy-two hours, Yamamoto hasn't seen him without a cigarette between his fingers or clenched between his teeth. Distantly he thinks that he had promised to quit, had thrown out his last pack less than four months ago. 

But then he remembers that the only reason he would bother trying is gone.

Tsuna is dead.

"What are you fucking looking at?"

He just gives Gokudera a small smile and a pat on the shoulder that he throws off. Undeterred, he makes a suggestion. "Let's get a drink."

He doesn't give him time to refuse or leave. His arm goes around Gokudera's neck and he gently pulls him along as he makes his way through the halls to the canteen. He pulls away once they enter the sliding doors, giving him a light shove to the table before going to the cabinet to pull out the alcohol and cups. There isn't anyone else there, which doesn't surprise him. The base is almost entirely empty, everyone either throwing themselves into work or avoiding the compound altogether. No one wants to think about what's missing. No one wants to face reality. It's too soon. Too painful. He understands more than he lets on. 

Story of his life really. 

Yamamoto sits down across from him, pouring Gokudera a bourbon on the rocks and a shot of sake for himself, because he knows Gokudera can't stand the taste, and anything that has to be sipped is not conducive to his destructive habits. Sipping takes too long, doesn't get him drunk hard and fast enough. For a man who's brain is akin to a supercomputer, able to do complex chemistry equations and remember entire chapters of novels, Gokudera is a slave to instant gratification. Perhaps that's why explosives appeal to him so much. It's fast. It's efficient. It's over in the span of a few seconds, and he has his results, good or bad. He doesn't do well with things that take time, that require slow progress. That's why he doesn't like sports and why he never picked up a weapon that demands a certain level of developed finesse to use. Yamamoto, however, he is known for his patience. He spent years learning baseball, and years learning to use a sword. He has spent years learning how to handle Gokudera and all his moods.

"What's your problem?" Gokudera bites out after he swallows his drink in one go, banging the glass on the table.

"What do you mean?" Yamamoto replies as he swirls the sake around in his cup, not quite ready to drink it yet. He doesn't need to rush.

"Stop being so…you!" Gokudera spits out accusingly, shoving the glass across the table, and Yamamoto catches it. "Stop being so fucking calm all the damn time!"

"What do you want me to do?" he asks sincerely, but the question only seems to make Gokudera more furious as he takes the bottle of bourbon and throws it at his head. He ducks and it smashes against the far wall. Gokudera gets to his feet, hands clenched, and face tense with emotion. Yamamoto follows suit, pushing his chair back and reaching over to touch Gokudera's hand. "Fuck off!" he swats his hand away, "You don't get it do you? The Tenth is _dead_ you moron!"

It's better to let Gokudera yell. He needs to get it out, everything that has been boiling and building and churning just beneath the surface. "I know that," Yamamoto replies evenly, "But I don't understand what you want from me. I can't bring him back."

Gokudera's eyes narrow and Yamamoto can almost see the waves of hate billowing off him.

"You didn't care about the Tenth like I did!" he grabs the cup of sake and throws it as well, shattering it against the same wall as the bourbon.

Yamamoto's chest tightens. He knows he isn't thinking clearly, but the accusation still hurts. "You're wrong Gokudera."

"You don't even care that he's dead! At least you can go play baseball now!" Gokudera turns to leave, but Yamamoto moves around the table and grabs his arm before he can.

"That's wrong!" he said softly, his grip tightening, "I cared about Tsuna just as much as you did." They cared differently, but not inequally. Gokudera showed his love through acts of devotion, loud expressions of pride and affection. He was Tsuna's loudest advocate, probably also his first, but far from the only one. Yamamoto was there too, through the battle for succession, through the fight with Mukuro, through everything. Yamamoto was there when he was shot, just the same as Gokudera was. They would both be carrying his casket on their shoulder tomorrow, and it would both kill them inside to bury him. Gokudera needed to see that.

"Get off!" Gokudera spits, twisting away and throwing a punch. The edge of his ring catches Yamamoto's chin, cutting at the skin.

Yamamoto stumbles back a step, putting his hand to his face.

"Leave me alone!" Gokudera orders viciously over his shoulder as he storms out.

Yamamoto sighs and pulled his hand back, inspecting the blood now on his fingers.

It has only been three days.


End file.
